Legacy of Shadow

by Gallant, Craig;

  She nodded, but she was already out the door. “We need to get to the auxiliary docking bay.” She said over her shoulder. “There should be at least one more ship there. We can take it to Sanctum.”

  Justin ran past her, empty hands pumping. “I can get it started!”

  She spared a moment’s thought to thank whatever powers were shaping that day. By taking his Ntja with him, Taurani might just have left them an opening.

  Around the next bend there was a gasp, and a sick, half-hearted cry.

  The Variyar with her raced around the corner with shouted war cries, and she sped up. Her stomach dropped, and she shivered with a sudden, violent cold. She had been a fool; she knew it before she even came around into the next straight passage. The corridor was full of Ntja soldiers, their swords swinging wildly as they met the Variyar in combat once again.

  At their feet, jostled by their maneuvering but bereft of any directed motion of its own, was the body of Justin Shaw.

  *****

  The diplomatic shuttle was a crude, military model; nothing like the luxurious craft he had become accustomed to in his work for the Council. But Ochiag’s fleet was a hunting formation, designed and equipped to enforce Council policy and eradicate Human splinter fleets. There was little call for the niceties of a fully-appointed shuttle for civilian diplomats.

  Taurani stared into the depths of a viewing field oriented forward, showing the view flashing over the towers of the city, the glittering dome of Sanctum growing larger in the distance. He occupied a small bubble of space in the crowded ship, almost entirely filled with elite Ntja soldiers and their equipment. He could have crammed a few more in if he was willing to forego his own comfort, but even under battle conditions, there were some standards he refused to lower. He justified the move by thinking that the added strength of the rearguard would make it harder on the Variyar barbarians nipping at his heels.

  He figured that the mess in the command center would give them pause as well, as they tried to puzzle out what had happened to the big Eru stretched out on the floor of the administrator’s office. He cursed Iranse in the silence of his mind, but the creature had clearly reaped the rewards of his folly, and was now beyond the Ambassador’s wrath.

  What was Iphini Bha thinking? He had always been such a gifted judge of character. And the timid little thing had never even registered as a threat as he developed his plans. He had taken the innate passivity of her race for granted. What had possessed him to let her have the Skorahn?

  He wanted to strike the bulkhead beside him in his anger, but refused to reveal the depth of his frustration to the soldiers around him. He sat back, his shoulders straight, and concentrated on his breathing.

  Why was Marcus Wells at Sanctum? The fury of the storm of questions rose again in his mind, upsetting his feeble attempts at meditation. There was nothing there for the Human. Even with the cursed medallion, if that was in fact where Bha was headed, there was nothing they could do.

  He had done extensive research before accepting the assignment to this filthy hole in space. The mysteries of Sanctum were minor compared to many of the other unknowns associated with Penumbra. He knew about the ancient wall in its Alcove, of course. He had even visited the site once, during his early time in the city. He was aware of the extensive efforts to open the doorway throughout the recorded history of the place. Various administrators had even attempted to use the Skorahn, and all of them had met with nothing but the cold, immovable silence of the sealed blackness.

  He snorted. No one even knew what was behind the wall! The chain of wildly improbable events that would bring Iphini Bha and Marcus Wells together again and see the door open was still no real threat to his designs. Nothing hidden beneath the dust of the ages could match the forces he was bringing to bear. He would wrest control of the city away from the ragtag crew of misfits once and for all, and nothing a Human could do would stop him.

  “Ambassador, Admiral Ochiag requests a word, sir.” The Ntja sitting at the control console turned around to address him. The pilot’s enhancements were extensive, but then those Ntja who had survived the running battles through the Tower with him were mostly high-ranking, this late in the battle.

  He nodded without a word, and turned back to the viewing field, its spherical shimmer glittering for a moment, and then Ochiag’s craggy features peered down at him.

  “Ambassador, the technology you provided was most effective.” Wet teeth gleamed within the folds of the admiral’s smile. “The Variyar are trapped.” The heavy brows dropped. “I cannot help but notice, however, that the defenses have not yet begun to engage them?”

  He frowned. This is what came of relying upon such a crass species. “No, Admiral. The city’s defenses seem to have defaulted to a ready state.”

  “I trust they will pose no risks to my fleet as we pass to engage the enemy?” There was a gleam in the Ntja’s eyes that Taurani did not care for.

  “Hardly, Admiral.” He reached into the interface field beneath the image and called up a status report. “Your heavy infantry are redeploying from the prime docking bay toward the insurgents. The rest of our forces have contained them within their fallback position. There is nowhere for them to run, and they lack the power to withstand our forces. The defenses of the city will be back under our control very soon now.”

  A burning sensation rose up in his throat as he forced the words out, keeping his tone reasonable. Nothing galled him more than having to treat with a being of such markedly inferior social position. And he could tell that Ochiag was enjoying the reversal of roles.

  “See that they are, Ambassador.” Ochiag had the grace to keep the grin from his jowly face, but that light was still dancing in the small, dark eyes.

  Without a formal farewell, the field jumped, and he was once again looking out past the nose of his shuttle.

  He sank back into the crash couch and looked up at the nearest Ntja. “Make sure the heavy infantry are converging on Sanctum. I want everything in place by the time we arrive.”

  The creature nodded, turning to push its way forward to the control console against the forward bulkhead.

  Part of him wanted to level the ancient ship from a distance and just have done with the entire, sordid affair. Of course, he could not endanger the Skorahn that way. And besides, he wanted to look into Marcus Wells’ eyes as the Human died, preferably a slow death, choking on his own blood. And if he could walk beside the corpses of the rest of his little band, seeing their lifeless eyes for himself, even better.

  He coveted a private hope as well, that he might catch up to Iphini Bha and thank her personally for this latest little twist to his path.

  *****

  Another blast slapped against the networked crystalline panes spread out before them. Whatever the ancient viewports were made of, it had been standing up to the Ntja weapons quite well. Although, Marcus had to admit, sheltering behind a transparent wall during a firefight was not helping his nerves any.

  From his position near the Alcove and its sunken, unresponsive door, he watched as the Variyar took shelter behind the foremost consoles of the ancient bridge, firing through holes they had bored through the crystal with their hand weapons. The brilliant flashes of blue and red strobed almost constantly now as the Council troopers closed the distance. Many were following walls of portable barricade, while others were in low-slung vehicles carrying heavier weaponry.

  Above Sanctum soared several Ntja transports working as ground attack craft. He thought he had seen a Variyar ship off in the distance at one point, but it had been run off by the Council forces.

  There were eight Variyar left, snapping off suppressive fire meant to slow the Ntja as much as possible. He wasn’t sure why they were bothering, to be honest. It looked like there was an army out there swarming toward them, with a fleet of ships overhead. If Angara and Justin had had any luck at the Red Tower, he felt sure the pressure would have eased by now.

  Instead, this was pretty much the end.


  He looked over to where Sihn Ve’Yan stood, near the end of the wall of glass. She stared out at the approaching forces, her face blank. The flashes of plasma blasts winked in her eyes as they locked on a distant horizon only she could see.

  Khet Nhan had collapsed again by the black wall, cradling his head in his hands. The little mystic had not spoken since his last outburst against Marcus, and he would just as soon not suffer another. There was something profound going on between the Thien’ha, he knew, but given their current situation, he couldn’t bring himself to care what it might be.

  Ever since he had been dragged to Penumbra, he had been treated like shit. Now that he knew why, it wasn’t making it any easier to bear. So Humans had once ruled the galaxy and done a shitty job of it. So what? What did that have to do with him? How bad must they have been, though, to have left such a thick psychic stink behind them after thousands upon thousands of years?

  He thought back to some of the darker moments in his history classes. Human history had more than its fair share of monsters, of course. Was there any doubt that, if the wrong people got in charge, given the technology these Humans must have had at their disposal, some truly terrible things might have happened?

  Maybe it was best that he end here, with his back to the damned wall, before he could do any serious harm.

  It was hard to maintain that internal dialogue with the Council’s dogs showering the massive wall of glass with blaster fire.

  Screw that. If they wanted him dead, they were going to have to fight their way in and route him out. And he was going to do his damnedest to find out what was behind the high black wall before he died, as well.

  He heaved himself to his feet and gestured with his head toward the door when a nearby Variyar looked up from his firing position at the sound. He jogged down the ramp into the Alcove, looking back up at the wall as if he hadn’t spent hours staring at it already. It was cold and black and smooth, obviously of a different material than the rest of the ship that made up Sanctum.

  An explosion across the broad expanse of windows caused him to duck in place, whipping his head around, assuming the Ntja had just breached the chamber. But whatever had hit the windows was fading away outside, its heat and light bleeding off into the void. The Variyar continued to fire, and return shots continued to spall off the glass.

  Turning back to the door, he sighed, sliding to his knees, forehead on the cool metal. He was going to die up against this damned wall; he just knew it.

  Chapter 27

  The shuttle was a dilapidated old scow; it handled like an asteroid and offered all the comfort of an eggshell. She skimmed the surface of the Concourse on the west wing of the city, far from the Red Tower and danger represented by the Variyar fleet’s arrival. She had been flying since she ran from the Tower. She made sure to keep beneath the city’s defenses in case Taurani somehow managed to regain control of them.

  Although, without the Skorahn, she had no idea how he might do that.

  Still, better safe than sorry.

  She had no idea where to run. She had no real friends in the city; not anymore. Her coworkers in the administrator’s office were either dead, fled, or looked at her as the worst kind of traitor.

  Around her neck, the Skorahn pulled with a weight out of all proportion to its appearance. She could not be sure, but it felt like it had been getting heavier since the Variyar had dropped onto the control center viewing fields. As soon as she had realized what she was seeing, she knew that Marcus Wells had returned. And she knew what he must have returned for. She had no idea what the Human thought he could accomplish with the gem, but there was no other reason for him to come back.

  She picked up the Skorahn and stared into its blue depths. The shuttle was flying through a preprogramed flight pattern that circled around a series of towers, low enough that she would not have to worry about anyone on the east wing seeing her unless they were looking very carefully. She laughed at that, but stifled the ghastly sound as the sharp edges of panic grated in her own ears. Taurani would be looking for her, of course. And for more reasons than one.

  She looked down at her pale hands, still stained with Eru blood. Iranse had pretended to be her friend, he had stolen his way into her confidences, manipulated her past and her fears, and moved her onto a course that had destroyed her life and everything that had come to mean anything to her.

  She could see it now, of course, after it was too late. All of the dark and mysterious motivations Iranse had hinted at were nothing more than illusions, made large by her own fears and preconceptions. Marcus had only been doing his best in what almost any being would find an intolerable situation. And he had been even more alone than she. With Justin forging his false life among the denizens of the city, Marcus had been left alone to come to grips with an almost impossible task.

  He had tried, too. What he had done for the Diakk man and his boy had been inspired. It would have saved the boy’s life—

  Except that Taurani had then killed them both. The Kerie had then pulled her own strings, and tricked her into putting a blade into Marcus’s back.

  The medallion got heavier around her neck.

  If she knew where he was, she would give it back to him. The thought struck her without warning. She had not had any luck with the Skorahn herself, but Marcus had always had an uncanny affinity for Penumbra. The city had responded to him more strongly than it ever had for Uduta Virri, at least. Maybe, if she could have given him the necklace, he could have salvaged something from all of this.

  Maybe he could keep Taurani from her as well. She knew better than to think the Ambassador was going to forget her betrayal, or forgive her. It was fear of him, more than anything else, that kept her flying now. The impenetrable, glittering eyes seemed to stare out at her from every shadow. She knew she would see that face for the rest of her life, no matter how this day played out.

  She looked down at her hands, at the sticky fluid that drenched her long, agile fingers. Maybe she did not deserve any better than that.

  Iphini Bha had never even dreamed of taking another life before that day. But when she realized what was happening, and what Iranse was threatening, something had risen up inside her that she had never experienced before. And when she saw the contempt twist the giant Eru’s muzzle, when he had regarded her fear with nothing but cold amusement, whatever it was rising within her had surged forward, and she had lost all control.

  The stylus she had carried with her ever since leaving Iwa’Ban had been in her hands, idly flipping from finger to finger. It had been so easy to slightly alter the pattern so that the point emerged from within her suddenly hard fist. It had been even easier to plunge it into his eye.

  She had had not thoughts of murder even a moment before. The wild, animalistic desire that had surged up inside her had only wanted to wipe that look off his face. She had succeeded.

  Iranse had just enough time for his eyes to widen in shocked surprise before the stylus plunged into his brain. He had stood there, still as a statue, for longer than she would have thought possible, while she crouched, spent, near the door, waiting for him to pull the needle out and come after her. Instead, he had teetered and then slowly toppled over backward, his head cracking against the hard floor, his remaining eye wide and distant.

  And then she had run. She thought the Variyar might be making a move for the control center, and he did not want to be there when they arrived. So she had fled. She had run down to the tower’s auxiliary docking bay and taken the service shuttle kept there for emergencies.

  And she had been flying ever since. Marcus Wells was somewhere in Penumbra, if he was still alive. She figured Angara had probably returned as well. Justin Shaw was probably back also, and maybe even those thrice-damned Thein’ha that had adopted Marcus as their own.

  She stared into the middle distance with an empty heart. She had followed the wrong path, and her adopted home was going to pay the price. She had allowed herself to be fooled and manipu
lated by an evil being, and there was no returning to the safety of her old life. As the realizations crashed down upon her, one after another, she saw the majestic form of Warder Alab Oo’Juto collapse again to the floor, the water of his personal preservation field cascading down around him.

  That death, too, was on her head. Just as much as Iranse and every being who had died since Taurani and his thugs had taken over the city, and every being who had died this day, both in the city and above it, as brave people tried to undo her mistake.

  Almost without realizing what she was doing, the view through the forward fields tilted and the shuttle came around.

  If Marcus was after the Skorahn, he would assume Taurani had it, and was commanding things from the control center in the Red Tower. That is where the battle would be joined in earnest. Given how much strength the Council fleet had been dumping into the city, and how big the Variyar fleet that dropped into the system had been, things around the Tower must be terrible now. But she might be able to get close, land in a nearby tower and cross through the Concourse or one of the smaller bridges, and move up from there.

  If she could get Marcus the Skorahn, he might be able to set things right.

  She came up over the Ring Wall, planning on skimming across the bronze surface of the central plain to cut the distance to the Tower, when she saw forces arrayed all around Sanctum.

  The medallion pulsed against her chest. He was there. Somewhere within that swirling, colorful, violent storm, Marcus was there. She brought the shuttle around and pointed it toward the ancient ship.

  As the plain flashed beneath her, she confirmed that the forces surrounding Sanctum were Ntja, mostly in the black armor and uniforms of the Peacemaker fleet. A second force, the towering shapes of heavily armored troopers, were emerging from the Concourse’s Ring Wall, sprinting ponderously toward the battle.

  She leaned into the controls as if that might give her some advantage, her sudden resolve bringing a grim curl to her lips. The fight was centered around the massive bulbous observation arena at the fore of the old ship. There were two auxiliary docking bays on the flanks; neither of them seemed to have attracted much attention. She saw a few breaching parties tearing into the ancient hull with actinic cutting lasers, their blinding light sending shadows swooping crazily around them.